A Moment Alone
by Kiki Cabou
Summary: Don gets interrupted during a private moment. This literary multi-vitamin contains 100 percent daily value each of nudity, profanity, and stupidity.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Don or Charlie.

**Thank You**: to Z, for the beta.

**Note**: I don't normally go for shock value. However, odds are good that I'm totally going to make somebody pass out right now. Here we go.

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**A Moment Alone**

It was 10:36 AM in Pasadena, and Don Eppes was naked.

At the moment, Don was also a very particular kind of naked. He was not the virginal, shy kind of naked. Nor was he the extroverted, hot damn, somebody get me a mirror kind of naked. He was actually the singularly comfortable, air drying after a shower, here at Charlie's on his day off, sunny guest room to himself, door closed, whistling tunelessly, junk jangling all over the place, didn't give a _shit_ kind of naked, and he was just awake enough to really enjoy it.

He'd stayed over at his brother's house last night after a very late wrap-up on an intense case. Alan, concerned about him trying to drive afterwards, had successfully shooed him upstairs and the result was a rare nine solid hours of sleep, with the bonus of spending the night bundled under a clean comforter in a soft, warm bed. After his shower and shave this morning, he was feeling quite human and good. He padded into the bedroom from the adjoining bathroom, dripping on the plush rug around the bed as he set one hand on his hip and scratched his chest with the other. Strong fingers combed through the thick hair there while he wondered vaguely what there was to eat downstairs.

Then he remembered he needed to keep the bed dry for the last part of his grooming routine, so he turned on his heel, went back to the bathroom, and returned with a large towel which he spread out over the comforter. It took him a minute to find his toiletry bag – he'd dropped it somewhere around the bed – but a perimeter check was successful and he bent way over to snag it. One quick flick and it sailed up and over the mattress, coming down with a muffled clatter. He straightened slowly and plopped down on the towel with a sigh, flexing his toes and digging around in the bag for his nail kit while keeping half an eye on the closed door that separated the guest room from the hallway.

Satisfied that all was still, he took out his kit, spread out his tools in front of him, and checked his hands. The skin on the back of them was weathered and tough, and his fingernails had gotten long. They were also soft and milky-colored from the shower; he'd have to be very careful not to cut them too close. He started with his left hand, moving slowly and going by feel rather than by sight. With wet nails, the line between edge and quick blurred so well that if you didn't pay attention to the sensation in your fingers, it was easy to overshoot the cut and take off just a little too much, only to realize your mistake when your fingers started throbbing.

And yes, as much as it would surprise a lot of people he knew, Don actually thought about this stuff.

He was very diligent and disciplined when it came to these kinds of things. Being an athlete for so long had taught him that no detail of personal hygiene and health was too small to ignore. There were the major necessities – regular showering, a healthy diet, good hydration habits, rest, stretching, etc. – but in his case, it seemed that little things like proper nail care or staying warm during sleep made all the difference. Besides, playing baseball (and now working for the FBI) in a fog of exhaustion while running around with athlete's foot was not his idea of a good time.

He finished his left hand, clipped his right, and patiently filed away the rough edges on all his fingernails before turning his attention to his feet. He brought his left knee up to get access to his foot, grunting as he tugged it towards him. His knees didn't bend quite as well as they used to, but they were sturdy enough, so he leaned over the joint to reach his toes and curled over his work in concentration, the action relaxing his normally tight stomach wall. His belly hung out a little, and the track of hair between his navel and groin puffed up as it began to dry. The hair on his head, ignored for the moment, stuck up in every direction. It made a very lousy dam for the leftover shower water, which leaked down his neck and traced down his taut back in rivulets. After properly filing the nails on his left foot, he sniffed and shifted to tackle his right, lifting the other knee and letting his left leg flop back down.

So anyway, Don was just sitting there, naked as a jaybird, clipping his toenails and minding his own business, when suddenly the door to the hallway swung open.

He dropped the clippers with a startled yelp and whipped his head around. Charlie burst in, wearing blue-striped pajama bottoms and a faded yellow t-shirt.

"Hey, Don are you still … here."

Charlie stared. Don stared back.

Both snapped into action at once. Charlie stammered "Jesus!" and scrambled for the door. Don yelled something incoherent and tried to cover himself with the towel – a hard task because he was sitting on it. Just as Charlie reached the knob, hoping to put something sturdy between them, Don hefted himself up and yanked. Charlie caught a flash of pearly-white bare ass; nail clippings flew everywhere. The towel settled just as Charlie hurled the door closed with a crash. Don sat there, alone again, heart pounding, panting.

"Don, man, I am _so_ sorry," Charlie said on the other side of the door.

Don, still breathing hard, was not in the mood. "What the hell is your problem?" he thundered. "Y'ever heard of _knocking_?"

"Hey look, I didn't mean it!" Charlie shouted back through the oak panel. "I just woke up, and I didn't hear the shower – I thought you'd gone back to your place. Everything was so quiet … I was just checking! I didn't realize!"

Don rolled his eyes. A few seconds passed in silence. And then …

"Um, are you decent?"

The towel was in place. The pounding in his veins had ceased. He sighed through his nose. "Yes," he said wearily.

And … _now_ Charlie knocked. Of course. Don rolled his eyes again. "Come in."

Charlie opened the door again slowly and peeked around it, like he half expected Don to throw something at him. When Don just watched him, looking grumpy but not too dangerous, Charlie determined it was safe to step in all the way.

"As long as you're, um, you're here, I figured I'd ask if you wanted breakfast," he said, wincing slightly. "Although I'm guessing by your state of undress that you probably hadn't gotten there in your thinking yet."

Don blinked at him. It was official – Charlie was simultaneously the smartest and stupidest person he knew. Larry and his theoretical physics would have a field day with this one, he was sure. Then he looked more closely at Charlie, nervous and obviously hoping for forgiveness, even though this had clearly been an honest mistake and there was nothing to forgive.

He had to get this last point across. He also had to calm his younger brother and get him the hell out of the guest room, because cold air was starting to waft in from the hallway. So he breathed deeply and found his cool.

"Yeah, I'd like breakfast," he said at length. "Just give me a few minutes to finish up in here. I'll be down."

"Okay," Charlie agreed, edging back towards the door with a little smile. He looked relieved. "I'll see what we've got in the kitchen. I can't remember if there are any eggs left, but maybe we can have omelettes."

"Sounds great," Don said patiently.

Charlie nodded and left, and Don listened for the creak on the fifth stair before daring to laugh quietly and pinch the bridge of his nose.

Unbelievable. Well, at least there was food. That was something. Now where the hell did those clippers get to?

THE END

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I wrote this because Don's the bomb and also because while he's definitely a fine specimen, he's _Don_, not Adonis. Part of his charm is that he's not a body-hair-free linebacker who wandered out of a Harlequin novel. He's smart and confident and in the end I think that's what makes him so damn sexy. I just wanted to write something that showed him being real and letting it all hang out, so to speak.

I'm also toying with the idea of catching other characters in private moments (although not necessarily in the buff). What do you think?

Kiki


End file.
